


Kissing Lessons

by Naughty_Yorick



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Geralt is a little shit, Humour, Kissing, Kissing Lessons, M/M, its very kiss-centric, jaskier is a disaster, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:08:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26023963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naughty_Yorick/pseuds/Naughty_Yorick
Summary: Perhaps this simple, human pleasure was something that had passed his witcher by. Helping Geralt, Jaskier quite quickly decided, was the noble thing to do. Practising kissing was what friends did, wasn’t it?Jaskier convinces himself that Geralt's never kissed anyone before, and decides to rectify that the best way he knows: by showing him how. To Jaskier's surprise, Geralt agrees to go along with his lessons.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 27
Kudos: 390





	Kissing Lessons

As Jaskier extracted himself from the lips of the barmaid who’s name he’d already forgotten, he noticed Geralt staring at him.

Again. 

This was becoming a rather common occurrence. They’d met up in Oxenfurt quite accidentally three months ago, and had been heading North together. Jaskier, flushed with cash for once after taking on a few lectures for an old academic friend, had been paying their way through inns and taverns. Staying in inns rather than sleeping outdoors meant people - people meant an audience - and an audience meant _attention_. Jaskier loved it. 

He’d been very well behaved, he thought. This was only partially on purpose: he’d been rather distracted, lately, and the old routine of bedding down with a gorgeous person for the night felt a little… off. More often than not, he was more than happy to spend an evening having the life kissed out of him before retiring to his and Geralt’s shared rooms without so much as a dally in the stables round the back. 

The kissing - which itself was very nice, of course - seemed to bring with it this rather unusual side effect. This certainly wasn’t the first time he’d caught Geralt staring at him while he’d been wrapped around some villager. Geralt’s expression was, as usual, deliberate and unreadable - but Jaskier sure there was something else there too, something that made his heart ache. 

Jaskier was heading towards the bar with the vague intention to get another round in when a sudden thought struck him. He’d been travelling with Geralt for some time now, and not once had he seen him kiss anyone. Oh, sure, they’d visited brothels together - but Jaskier knew that certain rules applied in such establishments, often one of the first being _no kissing_. 

Geralt was certainly handsome enough, and while his manners often left something to be desired Jaskier was very aware that _manners_ were often the last thing he looked for in a partner who would amount to nothing more than a quick fumble. The more he thought about it, the more worried he became: he’d _seen_ people, both women and men, virtually throw themselves at Geralt, and yet he’d always turned them away. 

This could be why. Perhaps this simple, human pleasure was something that had passed his witcher by. 

Perhaps Jaskier could… help. Perhaps he could show him. He’d thought about kissing Geralt countless times - so often, in fact, that the dizzying daydream no longer made him blush, and _certainly_ no longer made him feel guilty. He’d always imagined that a dalliance with Geralt would be all rough lips and hard gazes and, ideally, heavily featured being pinned against a wide variety of horizontal and vertical surfaces. 

But now, as this new thought took root, he imagined something quite different. What if Geralt’s kisses weren’t rough or powerful but soft and gentle? What if they were unsure? 

And - oh - that was an entirely different fantasy indeed. Jaskier leading the way, showing Geralt all the wonderful things he could do with his lips and tongue and teeth, Geralt asking for more while Jaskier told him exactly what he wanted - exactly what felt best for both of them. 

Helping him, he quite quickly decided, was the noble thing to do. Practising kissing was what friends did, wasn’t it? Essi had shown him the thing with the corner of the lips, and Priscilla had taught him how to kiss in the Toussaint style, and Valdo had demonstrated to him that delightful little trick with his tongue. It had been a thorough and insightful education. Perhaps Geralt, raised only with the pack of men he referred to has his _brothers_ , had never had such tutelage. 

It simply would not do. For all Jaskier enjoyed a good fuck, there was something equally wonderful about a kiss - be it the languid strokes of long term lovers or a quick snog in an alleyway. A wonderful thing, he thought with a little stab of sadness, that Geralt wasn't able to experience. 

No: It wouldn’t do at all. He tossed a couple of coins to the barkeep, grabbed two more tankards of ale and sauntered over to where Geralt was sat, still brooding in the corner. 

“Geralt,” he said, pushing a pint towards him, “we must talk.” 

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Must we?” 

“We must. Quite urgently, I’m afraid.” Geralt rolled his eyes, so Jaskier prattled on. “Now, Geralt, I say this as your friend and without a trace of malice or any ill will, alright? But I have rather noticed that you’ve been, ah… staring.” That sounded awkward. “At me.” Melitele, that sounded _worse_. 

However - it appeared to be on the mark. There was a flicker of something like panic on Geralt’s face for just the briefest moment. 

“Rather,” Jaskier continued, easing his way through the difficult conversation, “staring at my… companions. My companions and I, I suppose. My company.” He sighed, aware he was rambling, and took a long swig of ale. “What I mean to say, Geralt, is that I’ve noticed you watching me while I’m kissing people and yet, in the two years we’ve been travelling together, I’ve not seen you kiss anyone at all.” 

Geralt blinked. Jaskier waited for a response. 

“It’s not been two years,” Geralt said, finally. 

“Psh,” Jaskier flapped a hand at him, “two years give or take, off and on. My point stands.” 

“Your point being what, exactly?” 

Jaskier paused. What _was_ his point? Right. “My point being that you’re my very dear friend, Geralt, and I… I want you to be happy.” Geralt didn’t seem to understand. “ _Fulfilled._ ” 

Geralt laughed. He _actually_ laughed. Jaskier’s heart did backflips. 

“I can assure you I’m perfectly fulfilled, Jaskier,” he said. 

“Well, _yes_ , but…” 

“We were literally in a brothel together in Novigrad two months ago.” 

“Okay, that’s _true_ …” 

“But?” 

“ _But…_ well, you know what they say about brothels. And, you know, the _rules_. What they _don’t_ do is often more important than what they _do_ … do.” 

Geralt looked truly confused, although he was still smiling. “Jaskier, what the hell are you talking about?” 

“Like I said, I’m just _concerned_ …” 

“About my sex life?” 

“Not your _sex_ life, no!” 

“Then what?” 

Jaskier leaned closer, conspiratorially, even though no one was paying them any attention. 

“I’m talking about _kissing_ , Geralt.” 

Geralt frowned at him. “What?” 

“It’s just… look, Geralt, I’ve seen the way people look at you…” Geralt opened his mouth to argue, “And _don’t say_ -” Jaskier continued, cutting him off, “Don’t say that you’re a big scary witcher and no normal folk will want you because we both know that’s patently untrue. I’ve seen at least a dozen people who’d be more than willing to take you for a tumble if you wanted it. But you never want to. And, well…” 

“You think I don’t want to because of… kissing?” 

“Something like that, yes. Look, everyone does their own thing, and if it’s not something you’re interested in then that’s fine! But… well, if you’ve not got that much _experience_ …” he took a deep breath. “I can help.” 

“You can… help?” 

Jaskier nodded. He could feel his face begin to flush. This had never happened with Essi, damn it. He took another drink to busy himself, to hide his glowing cheeks. 

“Jaskier,” said Geralt, his voice far more calm than Jaskier was currently feeling, “are you proposing you teach me how to kiss?” 

Jaskier spluttered, choking on the ale. _Oh, marvellous,_ he thought to himself, _very alluring_. 

“Yes,” he coughed, trying to compose himself. “That’s the ah… the long and short of it.” 

He placed the tankard back down on the sticky table. Geralt appeared to be thinking. Jaskier wasn’t so sure that his brilliant idea had truly been all that brilliant. 

And then Geralt stood, ale in hand. “Alright,” he said. 

“I… what?” 

“I said alright. Or have you decided against it?” 

Jaskier stood up so fast he nearly knocked his chair over. Geralt didn’t comment - just raised an eyebrow - before heading up the rickety stairs that led towards their room. 

~ 

Jaskier tried not to stumble on the stairs, one hand still clasped around his ale. Was this happening? Was this actually, _truly_ happening? Part of him wanted to check, but the irrational part of his brain was convinced that if he stopped Geralt and asked exactly what was about to happen that Geralt would suddenly change his mind. 

He found himself being led into their shared rooms, vaguely aware that this was not how it was supposed to go. _He_ was supposed to be in charge, the one leading the way. Wasn’t he? 

Jaskier entered the room, sure it had somehow shrunk in the few hours since they’d arrived, and Geralt shut and bolted the door behind them before placing his tankard on the little table and settling himself on the bed. 

“So,” he said, looking up at Jaskier with an expression bordering on cheeky, “you were saying?” 

The tankard suddenly felt very heavy in Jaskier’s hands. He placed it on the table next to Geralt’s before stepping forwards and - feeling foolish - lowering himself down next to him. 

“Well,” said Jaskier, “This is… I mean, usually I would…” _Oh, Melitele._ He was rambling again. Jaskier knew himself to be an accomplished flirt, able to draw people in and charm them till they were putty in his hands, but under Geralt’s gaze it all tumbled away. He stammered like a schoolboy. 

“When I was in training,” said Geralt, his head tilted to one side, “we were told that the best way to teach was through demonstrations.” 

_Fuck_. This really wasn’t going how Jaskier had planned at all - and the brief fantasy of a gentle, bashful Geralt was quickly dissolving. On the other hand, of course, what that meant was that Geralt was very willingly offering himself up to him. He’d _told_ Jaskier to kiss him. Sort of. 

And Jaskier wasn’t going to let that opportunity slip away from him. 

He pulled his legs up beneath him and turned on the bed so he could fully face Geralt, then took the witcher's jaw in one hand, guiding Geralt’s face to meet his own. He bit back the urge to talk, to pointlessly explain the motion. Now was not the time for his self-conscious babbling. Instead, he leaned in, his eyes trained on Geralt’s lips. 

Jaskier was aware he was still being stared at. 

“You know,” he murmured, their lips just an inch apart, “traditionally, one closes one’s eyes.” 

“Is that so?” came the reply. “But if I close my eyes, how will I know what you’re doing? How do you expect me to learn?” 

Jaskier sighed against Geralt’s lips. Gods, that was surprisingly hot. There was nothing else for it. He quickly wet his lips with his tongue, then pressed his mouth to Geralt’s. He started soft, lightly brushing their lips together, easing them both in. Geralt kissed him back with equal gentleness, and - ah - was that uncertainty? It was hard to tell - and hard to care, now. The vague notion that Jaskier was going to be teaching Geralt anything at all was quickly sliding away from him: all he could think was how supple Geralt’s lips were. 

He pulled away, and Geralt was still watching him in silence. 

“Ah,” muttered Jaskier, reeling a little, “so…” 

And then Geralt’s hand was on _his_ jaw, cupping the side of his face so gently that Jaskier couldn’t help but lean into the touch with a sigh. 

_Fuck it._

He surged forwards once more, this time pressing his lips to Geralt’s with urgency. Geralt responded in kind, and taking that as an assent to continue, Jaskier gently pressed the tip of his tongue to Geralt’s lips. Geralt made a low, rasping noise which went straight to Jaskier’s core, and Jaskier had to stop himself from simply pushing Geralt down and pinning him to the bed. This was supposed to be a _kissing_ lesson; nothing else. 

He let his tongue explore the contours of Geralt’s lips, tracing them, aware that if Geralt was inexperienced in this area the sudden invasion of his tongue in his mouth might be overwhelming. But Geralt opened his mouth beneath him, as if he was inviting him in, and - afterall - who was Jaskier to turn such a delicious invitation down? Slowly, so as not to surprise him, Jaskier let himself in, tasting Geralt in his mouth - the bitter flavour of the ale mixed with something else, something that was purely Geralt. He was shocked when Geralt mirrored the movement, and suddenly their lips and tongues danced together in tandem. 

Jaskier hadn’t realised that Geralt’s hand was no longer on his jaw until there was a sudden, powerful grip around his waist, pulling him closer. He gasped against Geralt’s lips, and Geralt kissed him even harder, his fingers digging into his hips. Jaskier wrapped his hands around the back of Geralt’s head, tugging through his hair, holding him close. Geralt made that noise again - that terrible, sinful noise - and all thought of _lessons_ and _teaching_ were completely abandoned as Jaskier took Geralt’s bottom lip in between his teeth with a needy tug. It was Geralt’s turn to gasp, now, and suddenly they’d both topped backwards onto the bed, Jaskier pinning Geralt beneath him, one knee on either side of his hips. 

He kissed Geralt like he couldn’t stop - like if he did, he might die, his hands now thoroughly roaming. Jaskier felt Geralt’s grip around his waist grow tighter, and suddenly he found himself being flung over, pressed into the sheets beneath Geralt’s arms. The movement broke the kiss apart, and Jaskier stared up at Geralt, his breaths quick and erratic. 

“Geralt,” he managed, “I… _fuck_ , Geralt.” 

Geralt grinned down at him. “Not bad,” he said. “I’d say… definitely in the top three.” 

Jaskier froze. “What? Top three? I… Geralt, what…” 

Geralt raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. 

Oh. _Oh_. “You…” Jaskier began, heaving himself up on his elbows, “You bastard! You let me think… you said…” 

“I didn’t say anything,” drawled Geralt, still looking down at him, “ _you_ assumed. I just didn’t correct you.” 

Jaskier’s mouth opened and shut uselessly as he tried to find the right words. He wanted to be furious - but this was all his own bloody fault for making such ridiculous assumptions. Of _course_ Geralt had kissed people before. Of course he had! He was fucking… 

“I can’t believe you let me make such an arse of myself,” he said, aghast. 

Geralt lowered himself so their faces were inches apart. “I wouldn’t call that making an arse of yourself,” he said, “you’re a very adept teacher. Very enthusiastic.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Hmm. Although…” he leaned in closer, and Jaskier felt like he might simply perish beneath that intense stare, “There’s a couple things I’m still not sure on.” He pressed a single chaste, feather-light kiss to Jaskier’s lips. “Perhaps you could show me again?” 

Jaskier swallowed. “Of course,” he said, breathlessly. “Why don’t you show me where you think you need improvement?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! If you want more of my nonsense, come and chat to me on tumblr at [a-kind-of-merry-war](https://a-kind-of-merry-war.tumblr.com/) <3


End file.
